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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378372">Fake It Till You Mean It</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozyTeacups/pseuds/cozyTeacups'>cozyTeacups</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl'>Tiny_Dragongirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale's Name is Ezra (Good Omens), But sharing only one braincell, Crowley is good with plants but bad at feelings, Crowley listens to music all the time, Dating, Dinner, Do It With Style Mini Bang (Good Omens), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Hastur (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Ligur (Good Omens), Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Oxford, Romantic Comedy, Sharing a Bed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:48:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozyTeacups/pseuds/cozyTeacups, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fed up with his colleagues mocking him for his non-existent love life, Crowley lies that he has a boyfriend, then lets his imagination run wild. Much to his surprise, mere hours after describing his “boyfriend”, a man perfectly fitting said description walks into the plant nursery where Crowley works. Assumptions are made. So is a convoluted plan. Ezra agrees to pose as Crowley’s boyfriend for a few weeks because what harm could it do? It’s not like they are going to fall in love for real, is it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Mini Bang, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Do It With Style Mini Bang.</p>
<p>Amazing and inspiring art by <a href="https://cozyteacups.tumblr.com/">cozyTeacups</a>, wahoo!</p>
<p>Beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/my1alias/profile">my1alias</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Pregnant women are smug</em>, as Crowley remembered Garfunkel and Oates singing it, and he would have gladly added his own version somewhere along the lines <em>Colleagues in an established relationship are especially smug</em>/<em>Did I mention Ligur the lame and Hastur that mug? </em>Or something like that. A few more afternoons spent in the company of Hastur and Ligur (most disgusting couple on Planet Earth, in Crowley’s opinion) and he would come up with the full lyrics.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that Crowley had any problem with romance or relationships—apart from not having any of them in his life at the moment. Which was fine. He was still an eligible bachelor with a decent job and a great car, and currently without a partner. Absolutely not a condition that should call for comments like,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Still nobody to warm your bed, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find yourself a frog you can smooch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley usually just rolled his eyes and said, “That’s not even funny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was annoying to discuss this every single workday... and one dull Monday morning Crowley finally snapped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi, guys. Sorry I’m late—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did your partner keep you occupied?” Ligur teased with a nasty grin plastered onto his face. “Wait, I forgot—you don’t have one!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ligur and Hastur laughed, and it was the final straw that broke, well, not the camel’s back, but Crowley’s patience.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In his defense, he had a rough morning which started with a long night and ended with some douchebag almost scratching his precious 1926 Bentley that Crowley had kept in mint condition so far, and his not-so-dear colleagues had been trying his patience for weeks now (ever since they had gotten together). His brain only stopped listening for a minute but his mouth never got the memo and kept running.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know what? Yes, he did. He kept me so warm and comfortable I didn’t want to leave the bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now <em>that </em>left them gaping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bullshit,” Hastur said, licking his lips. “You’re lying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“‘M not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Give us the details then. What’s his name? How does he look? How did you two meet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not your business.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ligur snorted and poked Hastur between the ribs. “He’s bluffing, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to talk about him because this relationship, it’s new.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No shit, you invented it five minutes ago.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let’s just say that he is very special.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does this specialty have a name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I told you—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Give us a name. We want a name!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They wanted a name and Crowley thought, <em>fine, you will get one</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ezra. His name is Ezra.” It should have been enough. Crowley could have an imaginary boyfriend called Ezra for a few weeks before he would get his stupid ass dumped by him. Easy as anything. But the problem was, he couldn’t stop after saying the name. It was like a dam had broken and the words started spilling out of his mouth. “Like, you know, Ezra Pound the poet if that rings any bells for you. Probably not. My Ezra, he’s a real bookworm. I mean, he carries a book everywhere and when he hasn’t got his arms full of me, mostly he's got them full of books. No wonder, though, he owns a bookshop.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds like a total bore.” Hastur faked a yawn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And a snob.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfff, I feel like I’m casting pearls before swine.” Crowley pretended to be offended but somewhere along the line he started to enjoy his little game. He was sauntering towards very dangerous territory. “He is a great conversationalist, and, have I mentioned?, unbelievably kind. Also a bit of a bastard, but it suits him, makes him even more adorable.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That earned some gagging noises.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I bet he is ugly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ooh, thank you for asking!” This was really the last point when Crowley should have known better. He did not. “Because Ezra is just downright gorgeous. He has the softest smile on Earth and he might be a bit shorter than me but it’s also the perfect height for kissing—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ugh, we don’t want to hear it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait till I finish. His hair is fluffier than a cloud and it glows in the sun like a halo. Yeah, that’s it. He is practically an angel, my Ezra.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley felt very satisfied with himself—he was finally giving back some of the torment he had had to suffer from Hastur and Ligur for weeks!—and tried to hide his way-too-suspicious grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What did you say, how long have you been dating?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whoops. As much as he invested into improvising the most unlikely boyfriend ever, so not his type, Crowley may have forgotten to think about this little detail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Two… weeks?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where did you meet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Think, Crowley, think!</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“At the museum! I met him at the Rubens exhibition.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So like what, the guy was ogling fat naked ladies and you thought, hey, he must be gay, I should hit on him?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m surprised you know who Rubens was at all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And that should have been the end of it. A tad bit disappointing response for his colleagues’ bullying and maybe a bit emasculating too, but Crowley had his own fun in imagining himself as the sappy boyfriend of a guy with whom he would never fall in love. Never. In no universe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So not his style, this Ezra fellow.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p><em>Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago, </em>Hozier sang into Crowley’s ears while he was busy trimming the foliage of a <em>Symphytum</em> ‘Hidcote Pink’ (commonly known as comfrey). He liked this innocent-looking clever little devil of the nursery—easily grown but difficult to eradicate once established—although he would have never shown any fondness towards it. In his opinion, plants needed to be disciplined, not mollycoddled, or they would get <em>ideas</em>. But if anyone had asked him, Crowley preferred the company of plants to the company of his colleagues, and taking care of them while listening to some music (earphones forever!) was the favourite part of his job.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oi, Crowley!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So much for peace and quiet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guess what.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley grunted. “I’ve got a to-do list longer than a fucking Leonard Cohen song, so. Just spill it out, Hastur.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your boyfriend is here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s such a loser. Tried to play it subtle, though, said he came for a package but his name gave him away.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bits of their morning conversation started to come back to Crowley. He babbled something about books…. and probably said something about fluffy curls… and invented a poetic name for his non-existent boyfriend but what was it? Robert? Walt? No, Ezra! It was Ezra. Interesting choice, but once he jumped on the train of stupidity, his brain was not to be trusted. No news under the sun, really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except for one interesting wee little detail maybe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ezra is here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. He’s at the pickup desk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Very interesting indeed, because last time he checked he hadn’t got an actual boyfriend called Ezra. So. Who was waiting for him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley tried to saunter to the pick-up desk as casually as possible—like someone who knew what was going on. Or who that man was, standing over there in a beige suit that had gone out of fashion around 1905, steepling his fingers over his soft, round middle. As a matter of fact, his white blonde curls looked softer than a newborn lamb’s wool, he was a bit shorter than Crowley, and all in all, he looked just like Crowley had imagined him. Except for his fashion sense maybe, because creative as he was, even Crowley couldn’t imagine actual people who would stand in front of the mirror in the morning and think, <em>oh, hey, I’ll dress up as Henry James today</em>. The most modern piece around him was his leather handbag, placed on the desk, and even that looked like it had been dug up from 1941. But otherwise he looked every bit like Crowley’s non-existent, entirely fictional boyfriend Ezra.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, erm, how may I help you, sir?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley tried to keep his voice down, in case his colleagues were lurking around and spying on them, which only led to the man leaning closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d like to pick up my order; I was notified through an electronic mail that I could come for it. There should be a hibiscus under my name, Fell. You should check it under F. Ezra Fell.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, about that—” Crowley stammered. “Please, follow me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t lead the way, he rather bolted and hoped that this Ezra fellow would catch up. A plan, or something close to it, was rapidly forming in his mind, but they needed to get out of earshot, and that landed them in the parking lot in front of the shining glass-and-steel building of the nursery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I need your help,” Crowley blurted out but when he tried to form his mouth around the next words, it didn’t want to cooperate. Mysterious Ezra Fell greeted the request with raised brows, and when nothing followed the opening, politely turned his eyes away and let Crowley struggle freely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence stretched.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the humid August air and under the pressure of his half-formed plan, Crowley sweated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Precious seconds ticked by.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eden Gardens. You know, I don’t think that’s right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley followed the direction of Mystery Ezra’s gaze, and found himself looking at the bright green neon sign of the nursery. Its harsh colour was in sharp contrast with the gloomy clouds gathering on the sky, but it couldn’t ease the greyness of the scene. With the paved vastness of the parking lot and the glass walls reflecting back the first dark troops of an oncoming storm, nobody would have suspected an Eden-like plant nursery hiding behind the building.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eden was described as the garden of God. Singular, not plural.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, surprisingly that’s just what I want to talk about.” He knew he was grasping at straws here, but he needed to find his footing again and Ezra’s pale, yet piercing eyes returning to his face didn’t really help with that. <em>Fuck Hastur and Ligur,</em> he thought and took a deep breath—the situation had already got out of hand and he decided to just go carpe fucking diem. Why shouldn’t he bollocks up his life with style at least? “I mean, I think we should go plural together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m afraid I’m not following, Mr…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Crowley. Anthony Crowley.” Riiight. Good manners first, special requests second. “Look, I’m single and my colleagues apparently think it’s fun to ostracize me for that…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then Crowley told Ezra the events of the morning, more or less coherently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, if I understand you correctly, you wanted them to stop making fun of you by describing me, whom you’ve never met before?” Ezra didn’t sound angry or amused—if anything, he sounded interested, judged by the thoughtful, calculating way he had summed it up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know it sounds weird but basically, yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aren’t God’s plans just ineffable?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley frowned. “I’m sorry if it makes me sound like an ass, but it wasn’t wishful thinking on my part.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You aren’t my type. At all.” He twitched at his own tone, but he didn’t want to give Ezra the wrong impression— even if the <em>right </em>impression painted him as someone who didn’t know when to shut up and ended up saying shit things. “I don’t think I’d ever date anyone like you, we’ve got nothing in common. It just sounded like a funny idea at the time. No offense, though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“None taken. I didn’t mean to suggest that I had walked in here like some God-sent Galatea, searching for their Pygmalion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right, about that. Crowley could appreciate a sophisticated metaphor, and it felt time to repeat his earlier request. “Although maybe you could pretend to be my Galatea? For a while at least.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His suggestion was greeted with heavy, thoughtful silence, and Crowley wanted to take back his words immediately. Maybe his idea to play it on the funny side was wrong— probably it just made him sound like some arrogant prick. One proper look at Ezra should have told him that Ezra had been a honest-to-goodness businessman who would never take an offer lightly. Not even such a silly one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I don’t want to mess with you, I want to mess with them,” Crowley tried to explain but with every passing second it felt more and more like a lost cause. Honestly, he rather expected the Almighty to part the clouds and chide him for trying to taint Ezra with childish ideas. Of course, the clouds knew better and decided to further dampen Crowley’s mood by sending rain down on them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, I’ve got this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ezra clicked his bag open, took out an umbrella, shut the bag, opened it again, fished around a bit, pulled out a business card, slipped it into Crowley’s palm, closed the bag again, opened the umbrella and, stepping closer to Crowley, held it over their heads. In mere seconds, the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain hitting the umbrella quickened into a fierce summer shower. Without the umbrella, both of them would have been soaked in a heartbeat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose I should say thank you,” Crowley said uncertainly, because where were they standing with each other now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Better not yet. We have details to discuss.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could practically feel his eyebrows curling into question marks. “What are you—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“After work, come over to my shop, and we will sort out everything. I live above the bookshop, so just ring the bell if you come after closing time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On autopilot, Crowley pocketed the card with the address, still searching for words. “That’s— I mean, it’s— You—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, and would you bring my order over, please? If it’s not a big request.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That snapped Crowley out of his trance. “Sure. I should get back to work now, though.” He shot a glance towards the building and spotted familiar shadows lurking behind the shop window plants. “I think my colleagues are watching us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think they can see us. Not in this downpour.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Better be safe than sorry.” Crowley licked his lips. “I’m going to try something, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How could I consent if I don’t even know—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the rest of the sentence was lost as Crowley leant down and kissed Ezra on the lips, open-mouthed and sure. His confidence came out of the blue, probably fuelled by Hastur and Ligur spying on them, and didn’t last longer than a single balloon at a kindergarten party. Ezra’s lips were dry and soft— and absolutely unresponsive. Crowley quickly pulled back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry,” he croaked, ice-cold panic rising in his veins. Did he kiss a complete stranger just for show? Shit. He wasn’t even drunk. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I forgive you,” Ezra said, his cheeks slightly pink, voice trembling a little. “But don’t do that again. Ever. Public kissing is indecent.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Deal.” Luckily for Crowley, Ezra apparently had the patience of an angel, and decided not to smite him for his boldness—another sign of how much he didn’t fit the picture of a typical partner of Crowley. Every single one of his previous relationships developed somewhere along the line of the enemies-to-lovers-to-couple script. “Does this mean I can still go over tonight?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course. Don’t forget my hibiscus, please.” Ezra motioned to the building. “I’ll walk you to the door.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>It could never work,</em> Crowley thought as they walked back to Eden Gardens. The man was just too kind to be his partner for real.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p><em>Can anybody find me somebody to love?</em>, Queen had sung as Crowley had driven to Ezra’s place, and now, as he was sitting in the backroom of the bookshop, he thought that ironically, he had just found himself somebody without anybody’s help, thank you very much. Of course, it would be fake and wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, but at least he didn’t need to put in all the usual effort that had never paid off in the end. Maybe his dating days were truly over, maybe from now on that would be all waiting for him in the field of romance—lies and pretense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley quickly straightened up on the sofa he had been lounging on. Here he was, not even drunk, still nursing his first glass of wine, but already having strange thoughts, with no plant in sight to project them onto it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, actually…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where do you want to keep your hibiscus?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“In the window of the shop. Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no, no, that won’t do it. A hibiscus needs a sunny place.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s why I’m putting it in the window.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope, definitely not enough sun.” Crowley shook his head. “The opposite building is too close; not enough sunny hours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine.” Ezra huffed, putting down his glass and reaching for the hibiscus. “Take it then,” and he promptly handed the plant to Crowley. “I presume you have a sunny window.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t mean—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, it’s fine. I didn’t buy it to kill it, after all.” He shook the pot a little, prompting Crowley to take it from him. “There. Now we can say I gave it to you on our first date.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clutching the perplexed hibiscus to his chest, Crowley gaped. “You would bring me a flower for our first date?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s customary, and I personally think it’s a nice gesture.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know I work in a plant nursery, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, so?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The genuine puzzlement on Ezra’s face made Crowley laugh. “If you got me a flower for real, I’d probably bend your ear about the proper treatment of plants, and you’d never want to go on a second date with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something dangerously close to mischief twinkled in Ezra’s eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who isn’t whose type now, Anthony?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley almost choked on his wine. “Oh, no, shit, you should absolutely call me Crowley. Get used to it right now, please. Everyone calls me Crowley.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Even your partner?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Especially</em> my partner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about endearments?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just roll with whatever comes to your mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes passed in silence. Crowley relaxed back into his previous posture on the sofa, while Ezra was inspecting the wine in his glass with such a heavy, concentrated frown like he had been trying to read his future from it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There is something I don’t understand, my dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pet name earned a surprised but appreciative glance from Crowley. He really enjoyed the hint of possessiveness in it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shoot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you just, you know, go on a real date with a real partner?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As if it was so easy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fairly certain for someone so bold and aesthetically pleasing it can’t be a hardship.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t mistake idiocy for boldness,” Crowley said with a snort because nearly blowing it all off with one kiss was an idiotic move, he could see it now. The trouble was that he could only see the stupidity of his decisions after he had made them and suffered the consequences. “I think I’m out of the dating game for a while. For a long while, probably. It’s not really worth the effort if I only keeping bollocksing everything up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sure that’s not true.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, then how about this? My last partner practically cast me out of his life. Heck, they <em>defenestrated</em> me. Sent all my things into a freefall through the window.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ezra gasped. “What did you do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Asked too many questions.” Crowley grimaced. “Or one too many at least.” Seeing that his words were greeted by a blank face, he explained, “I proposed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ohh.” Judging by Aziraphale’s expression, he felt sympathetic for Crowley—sad, even—but his only comment was, “There must be a long story behind it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It doesn’t really matter.” Because Crowley was not used to people being sad about his pathetic romance rate, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to start getting used to it. Honestly, it only put him into an ever more pathetic light. “So. What about you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nowadays I’m not anyone’s type, as it seems.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where does that leave us then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perfect candidates for pulling your plank?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s prank, angel,” Crowley said, grinning and letting the first endearment that came to his mind roll off his tongue. Although barely noticeable, Ezra acknowledged his choice with a passing smile on his face. “And while I appreciate your willingness, I must warn you that playing along would entail coming to my boss’ annual garden party.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When is that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Last Saturday this month.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll pen it down then.” And much to Crowley’s amusement, he took a desk calendar from behind a stack of books and cluttered papers and circled the day in it. “But I’m afraid I’m rather hopeless when it comes to method acting, therefore I suggest we should practice beforehand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Practice what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Being around each other.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like what, actual fake dates?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Naturally, we could leave the nuisances of courtship out of them, but yes, we should spend time together while exchanging information necessary to make our story believable. So, yes, we would be faking dates.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fair point.” Crowley hummed. There was logic behind the suggestion, he could see that, and so far Ezra had been a pleasant company. Not to mention his impressive collection of wine or his comfortable sofa. “But what will you get out of the arrangement?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, one or two nice dinners, I hope, and possibly a ride to Oxford next Saturday.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To Oxford?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m meeting an associate.” Ezra raised an eyebrow. “I presume you own an automobile.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A true businessman, indeed. “Bastard.” Crowley grinned. “I haven’t been to Oxford in <em>ages</em>.” He leaned forward, extending a hand towards Ezra. “What do you say? Will you help me with giving hell to my colleagues?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a moment of hesitation (it couldn’t take longer than a heartbeat but it felt like eternity for Crowley), Ezra took the hand, his soft fingers curling into a warm, firm handshake around it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I’ll be damned.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So sorry for the late update!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Like a river flows/Surely to the sea</em>—the words bled into Crowley’s ears as he watched Ezra stroll towards him, and had it been a real first date, music and life would have been in perfect sync, just like in a film. As if. So far in his life things of the romantic nature had never worked out in his favour—if his life was a movie, it would never win any awards and nobody would buy it on DVD, because proper romcoms didn’t lack happy endings, did they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That, and no costume designer of taste would have given Ezra that hideous-looking umbrella he had been carrying. Its yellowish green colour utterly destroyed the mood of the scene. Or greenish yellow? Crowley couldn’t decide. Of course, if he wanted to be honest with himself, not even the ugly colour could ruin the mood when Ezra miraculously pulled it out and held it over their heads in the parking lot. Even the umbrella had its moments, and just seeing it made Crowley’s stomach jump as the memory of the parking lot rain came into his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is it going to rain?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When isn’t it going to rain?” Ezra retorted. “Nice to see you too, my dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nice is just a four-letter word, angel.” Crowley waved dismissively. “Okay, first thing first: you’re not allowed to bring that thing to the garden party.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought you loved me with all my oddities.” Ezra batted his eyelashes, and although it didn’t come out seductive, Crowley found the gesture surprisingly cute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, but you can’t win every argument.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The little pout that greeted his statement was also unsettlingly cute—people in Crowley’s life didn’t tend to be described by the C-word.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, what’s the plan for today?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought of feeding the ducks,” Ezra pulled a paper bag out of his pocket with a guilty look on his face, “but I’m afraid, breadcrumbs aren’t healthy for them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is St. James Park, angel, I’m sure the ducks are accustomed to breadcrumbs. I bet they can tell whole grain and rye bread apart, and probably name the bakery with a 90% accuracy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, thank you. It’s been bothering me.” With a smile sunnier than the whole summer on his face, he shook the paper bag a little, before reaching in for a generous pinch of breadcrumbs. “So. Do you have any siblings?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley was still somehow lost in Ezra’s radiant smile; he needed to catch up with the sudden change of topic and form his mouth around actual, intelligible words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh. Oh. Ngk. I mean— No. Zero. No siblings. You?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gabriel and Michael.” The next portion of breadcrumbs was propelled towards the lake with such driving force that some ducks actually, well, ducked. “Gabriel is a successful businessman. Michael is the head of a huge and time-consuming family.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take it you don’t see much of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, Gabriel lives in London but has an extremely busy schedule, and Michael is the vicar of Nunnykirk, so no, I don’t see them much. Although Gabriel likes to hint that I could learn a lot from them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But you’re a successful businessman yourself,” Crowley pointed out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, Crowley. I’m a bookseller.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah and? You sell books, I sell plants. That looks like business to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you always want to do that? Work with plants, I mean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dunno. Maybe? I’ve always enjoyed spending time in the garden.” Driven by a sudden impulse, he reached into the paper bag, just when Aziraphale had the same thought, and their fingers accidentally brushed. Crowley quickly pulled his hand back. “The lone child of separated parents, having the adventure of a lifetime in a back garden. You can imagine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, I think I can,” Ezra said softly, shaking the bag for the last crumbs and offering them to Crowley. “Please, don’t let me have all the fun. The ducks would be honoured.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you know that ducks mate for life?” The moment he uttered them, Crowley wanted to take back his words, thank you very much, why did he always need to make an idiot of himself? But Ezra encouraged him to go on with a small but questioning smile. “Wait, no, I might have heard that on <em> Gilmore Girls</em>, so it’s not hundred percent. Or was it about geese? Pretty sure it had to do with feathery creatures. Anyway, there must be at least one winged species interested in monogamy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fairies, maybe?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t be cynical, angel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Angels are winged creatures too.” With a thoughtful frown, Ezra pocketed the empty bag. “Maybe they mate for life.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“While it’s a nice thought, you might want to work on it a bit before you incorporate it into your wedding vows.” Crowley tried to say it without blushing and failed royally. How come that he wanted to tease Ezra and ended up embarrassing himself? Wedding vows, really. If it had been a real first date, Ezra would have been running away and never looking back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, Ezra gave a delighted little chuckle and said, “Darling, you never cease to amuse me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Bless my arse, </em> Crowley thought. Nobody would ever believe him for catching such a precious man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would you like an ice cream?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Excellent idea, my dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, walking to the ice cream cart, Crowley couldn’t shut his mouth and had to say, “I heard there are shops in America that sell thirty-nine flavours of ice cream,” which might have been just another baseless information from another TV show, but it made Ezra’s eyes twinkle with excitement, which made Crowley feel a little less idiotic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a not real first date and for the one walking disaster horticulturist involved, it all was going surprisingly well.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
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</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> I tell you all the time/Heaven is a place on Earth with you</em>— PING! Crowley’s mobile sent a sharp beep into his ears, signalling an incoming message and successfully interrupting the song at his favourite part. Momentarily cross about the interruption, he cleaned most of the dirt off his hands with a rag before pulling out the traitorous phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> If I remember correctly, it’s customary to thank one’s date for the pleasant time. So, thank you for yesterday, I enjoyed myself very much, customs aside.</em>—EF</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley blinked in surprise—but it was a warm, acceptable surprise, not the cake-thrown-into-your-face type. One that called for a reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Glad to hear it! Maybe we should repeat it soon?</em>—AC</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It must have been a slow day at the bookshop because the answer came mere seconds later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Can’t be soon enough</em>.—EF</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> How about dinner tonight? </em> Crowley started to write before backpedalling and deleting the entire message. He had imposed himself on Ezra’s time and patience, and it had earned him quite a lot of information about his “boyfriend” to hold off his colleagues’ prying. There was no need to greedily sponge on their brand new arrangement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Then what do you think of having a freshly laundered gentleman opening the door for you this Friday? Preferably to an Italian or Chinese place. Or anything you pick.</em>—AC</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moment he sent it Crowley regretted adding the last sentence. Make it the last two. The opening was fine; he was aiming for suave but then he overdid it and ruined it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Breaking character, we don’t have to do dinner if you don’t want to. We can exchange info via phone.</em>—AC</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minutes passed without an answer and Crowley was about to return his attention to replanting the bearded irises when his phone buzzed. It was Ezra calling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Hello, Crowley. I hope I’m not interrupting.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nah, I’m fine. What's wrong?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Nothing. I just thought it would be easier if I told you instead of texting you.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a heartbeat, Crowley thought Ezra was about to announce the end of the arrangement, and his pulse quickened at the idea. It was an unhealthy, ugly quickening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, shoot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I’m afraid that—</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> No, no, no, no, </em> Crowley’s pulse said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>—while I’m a smooth liar, I’m a bad actor. No matter how much I know about you, I can’t act around you like we spend a lot of time together unless, well, unless we actually spend some time together.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ah.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that was a thought Crowley needed to chew a bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>It doesn’t have to be a lot of time,</em>” Ezra hurried to reassure him after the prolonged silence. “<em>But a dinner would do nicely, and you </em> did <em> promise to take me to Oxford, so…</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A dinner and Oxford.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>And maybe a walk once or twice? Or a nightcap.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I don’t want to push you—</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s fine.” And it was. Ezra wanted to spend more time with him, and he had very practical reasons. The arrangement wasn’t called off, everything was still going as planned. “After all, I promised. So. See you on Friday?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Jolly good. I’ll think of a nice place. Bye!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bye, angel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley wouldn’t have been called a gourmet, and maybe he should have advised Ezra putting too much effort into the choosing of the place for his sake. But whatever. As long as Ezra liked the place, Crowley would surely find something to nibble on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wash that disgusting smile off your face, will ya,” Hastur snarled as he passed Crowley. “You can’t be that much in love with your boyfriend.”</p>
<p>
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</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Azzurro/il pomeriggio é troppo azzurro/e lungo per me, </em> Adriano Celentano sang from the stereos as they entered the Italian place Ezra had chosen. Red-and-white checked tablecloths, stone-covered walls decorated with plates and bunches of garlic, bright yellow limoncello filling the glasses… It all looked very cozy. Crowley briefly wondered if they were going to go all the ‘<em>Lady and the Tramp</em>’ way— then the memories kicked in, and he could feel red hot embarrassment creeping up his neck. No kissing, as per Ezra “juliaroberts” Fell’s request, not even over meatballs. Not that any kissing was wanted on Crowley’s part, <em> of course</em>; he had watched too many Disney movies, that was all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ezra ordered spaghetti alla puttanesca, and Crowley asked for the same, trusting his choice. They had a bottle of rich Nero d’Avola wine to accompany the meal, and a single candle on the table. It all looked very stylish in Crowley’s opinion—sort of romantic with a bit of ‘<em>Godfather’ </em>on the side. He even imagined the cook boiling pasta with a gun in their belt, just to crank up the stereotypes to the max.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As their meals were put in front of them, Ezra asked, “Did you know that spaghetti alla puttanesca originated from brothels?”, trying to sound casual, but Crowley could have sworn he had seen a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Easy to cook between two, ah, guests.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley smiled, half-amused, half-fascinated. “You’re a well of knowledge, angel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bon appétit, my dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The spaghetti smelt delicious, and Crowley dug into it with great interest, twirling some pasta around his fork and lifting it to his mouth— only to nearly drop it when he heard Ezra’s satisfied little moan. If he hadn’t been busy flushing at the sound, Crowley would have bet that no spaghetti alla puttanesca had met such enthusiasm before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it only escalated from there. Crowley found it extremely difficult to focus on his own plate as Ezra was making the most delightful sounds working through his own share of spaghetti. Sometimes even his eyes fluttered closed, he was enjoying himself so much. For Heaven’s sake, really, if eating made him so happy, Crowley would have gladly learnt to cook for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that was a thought. One of the dangerous kind, one that made Crowley take up stupid things like playing the guitar, refinishing furniture, hand-crafting jewelry, or candle-making, until his partners deemed him too soppy and clingy. New hobbies only led to heartbreak, he had learnt it the hard way. He had learnt it multiple times in fact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the other hand, Ezra wasn’t actually his boyfriend, and even though Crowley had a budding little crush on him, cooking for him and watching him eat sounded perfectly safe. Maybe, when this charade was over, they could remain friends. Strolls in parks and dinners together would probably kill off his crush but solidify their bond— and wouldn’t it be wonderful? A strong, stable friendship, based on making a bit of trouble together. No, not trouble—shenanigans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Crowley, dear, are you with me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snapping out of his linguistic stupor, Crowley realised Ezra had been talking to him for some time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, zoning out a bit here, appreciating the— Yeah, appreciating. The setting, that.” Not to mention Ezra’s eating habits. “What were you saying?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I asked if you’d like dessert.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley imagined Ezra digging into a tiramisu, tasting a spoonful and deeming it scrumptious, and enthusiastically nodded. “Dessert sounds marvellous.”</p>
<p>
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</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’d like for you and I to go romancing/Say the word, your wish is my command… </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are we listening to?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Vivaldi’s <em> Four Seasons</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know it’s Queen. I was asking the title of the song.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, I– I know. I was joking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a palpable tension in the car, and it started— Well, for Ezra, it probably started with Crowley putting down his feet and showing what the Bentley was capable of, as if the speed-limit had never been invented. Ezra tried to cling to his seat discreetly, but the sheer terror on his face whenever they passed by another car in Forma-1 style gave him away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For Crowley, it started with Ezra suggesting they should try hand-holding today. Sure, they had become more and more tactile with every occasion—because, there had been occasions, plural. For example, Ezra suggested a visit to a museum, since their cover story involved meeting in a museum. They spent a delightful couple of hours at the <em> Kiss My Genders </em> exhibition, and their fingers kept accidentally brushing, not to mention the not-so-accidental shoulder touches whenever Ezra wanted to direct his attention to an interesting piece. Another time they went for another stroll in the park and more finger-brushing happened, and there was the time when they had tea together and a hand covered a hand, oh and the night of the night cap too, where feet and legs got comfortably tangled. So, Crowley really shouldn’t have gotten tense and hit the road like the Devil was chasing them at the prospect of an itsy-bitsy hand-holding. He was definitely not falling for Ezra.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So. What’s the plan for today?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, at ten o’clock I’m meeting my associate in the Bodleian Café—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Bodleian!” Crowley whistled. “Must be one hell of an associate. Should I be jealous?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop talking nonsense, my dear. I’m trying to purchase an original copy of <em> The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter</em>, and a library is a fitting place for it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds like a fun read.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This book is practically impossible to get, so the ordeal might take a while, but when I’m done, we can have lunch! My treat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought you’d be having lunch with your business partner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why, you’re my business partner, too.” Putting their relationship this way did not make Crowley feel disappointed. Not in the slightest. “Then we should take a stroll around the Botanic Garden, if you’d like. You could introduce me to all the plants.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hardly know all of them.” And that was <em> not </em> a blush creeping up his neck. “‘S a nice idea, though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jolly good then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley wouldn’t have described the day with the word ‘jolly’—although it turned out to be good, all in all. But first, it was boring, if anything. Walking up and down on the streets of Oxford, while sipping coffee and window-shopping, felt boring without Ezra. So having a fish-and-chips lunch with him at George Street Social was a relief— giggling and cooing like schoolgirls about how cute the first time dating couple at the next table looked was just a bonus. If Crowley thought he and Ezra would look even sweeter on a real date? That was just a grave he was digging for himself and jumping into it whole-heartedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How was the meeting?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was a ruse. He tried to pass off ‘<em>The Laughable Adventures Of Charles And Lisette; Or, The Beards.’</em> as Agnes Nutter’s book.” Ezra scoffed. “As if I were some kind of amateur.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry to hear it.” Crowley had to hide his smirk behind his drink. The mysterious associate was gone for good; after pulling this trick with the book, Ezra would never want to see them again. Good riddance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The walk in the Botanic Garden started very jolly indeed as they ran into a senior group singing ‘<em>You’re my sunshine, my only sunshine…</em>’, before sitting down to have tea and compete in a friendly quiz game. Ezra made a fond comment about how adorable picnics were but Crowley couldn’t catch it as at the same time Ezra decided to try hand-holding for real. In one small motion, the afternoon went from jolly to unsettling, and he needed to concentrate very hard not to confuse the names of plants. Still, he almost mistook a <em> Campanula glomerata </em> for a <em> Campanula medium</em>; a mistake for which he had been the laughing stock of the nursery for weeks. Ezra remained blissfully oblivious to Crowley’s sudden incompetence— and to his silent suffering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that holding Ezra’s soft, warm but not sweaty hand was a hardship. Crowley only got so distracted because he tried to memorize the feeling forever and not to feel absolutely pathetic for it. Letting go, that was the hardest part.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily for Crowley, Ezra didn’t want the day to end either. Crowley couldn’t understand <em> his </em> motives but he must have enjoyed himself or why else did he suggest first having tea at The Rose, then purchasing tickets for <em> Hamlet</em>? He spotted the poster advertising the play taking place at the castle’s courtyard tonight and got excited about the idea. For the sake of arguing, Crowley protested that there would be no tickets left, then he was secretly pleased to buy the last two and bask in Ezra’s grateful smiles. Indulging in a parting glass over the River Thames sounded like the perfect end for the day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then Ezra started fretting about how late it got and how Crowley shouldn’t drive back all the way to London.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think we should take a room somewhere and leave in the morning.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Over my dead body</em>, Crowley thought and gulped. “Angel, it’s high season. It would take a miracle to find a room, let alone two.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We could share,” Ezra suggested innocently. “Why don’t you check your clever phone? I’m sure you’d find something in no time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a smart— Oh, fine, whatever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley tried to tell himself that he only relented so easily because he didn’t want the day to end over an argument. It wasn’t about pleasing Ezra, because he was definitely, <em> definitely </em>not falling for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a spare room in the Westgate Hotel, with a shared bathroom on the floor, alright, but for a rather nice last-minute price. They had the mind to buy a pair of toothbrushes and totally forgot about pajamas. When they climbed to the top for their room, they found out that there was only a bath but no shower in the bathroom. It only made the adventure more exotic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The metaphorical cold shower came when they entered the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This won’t work,” Crowley croaked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no, no, no, listen— I don’t— I mean, I can’t— Look, I turn and toss all night, it’ll be helluva uncomfortable and—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry so much, darling. It’s for one night, I’m sure that we’ll manage. This bed looks rather comfortable. We’ll be as cozy as teacups in a cupboard.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck. Fuck squared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like in a Hallmark romcom, there was only one bed. It made Crowley wonder if he should drown himself in the bath, but he cast off the idea. Taking a shower after a long and hot day without an actual shower was tricky enough. He spent a good half an hour in the bathroom to get so clean like his body had never even heard about sweat or dust. Then he realised that he only had his day clothes, no night attire, so he had to choose between sleeping in his underwear or in a pair of jeans very fitting for his figure, but absolutely unfit for a good night’s sleep. With a sigh, he put back on his smelly clothes and sauntered into the room where he found Ezra reading in an armchair. He looked up from his book with a radiant smile and asked,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All freshened up, my dear?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt so domestic Crowley wanted to cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can have the blanket, I’ll take the covers,” he said instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Ezra visited the bathroom, Crowley worked himself out of his clothes again before slipping under the counterpane and pulling it up to his chin. He prayed for a chilly night, possibly with rain, so his traitorous sleeping body would not get ideas about working the covers off and waking up bare-chested next to Ezra. On a second thought, though… He also started praying for a lukewarm night, so he didn’t need to look for some body heat sharing in his sleep. Because waking up wrapped around Ezra? Crowley had imagination. He could perfectly picture the joy of snuggling close to his angel—and the horror on Ezra’s face. Their budding friendship, if he could call it that, could never survive such intimacy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of their interlaced fingers. If he concentrated very hard, he could almost smell the summer air heavy with the scent of flowers too. Lost in his imaginary Eden, he nearly missed the soft opening and closing thud of the door, and the creaky dipping of the mattress as Ezra slipped under the blanket. There was a clicking sound and the light of the bedside lamp stopped drawing colourful circles on Crowley’s eyelids. It was followed by some shifting and turning on Ezra’s part until Crowley could feel his warm presence settling in a comfortable position—on his side, facing Crowley. Ezra’s soft breath tickling his ear gave it away for him when he heard him whisper,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good night, my dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley the coward decided to play along with the game and pretended to be fast asleep. Maybe he missed his chance to have a heartfelt, bonding talk with Ezra under the blanket of darkness. But what could he tell him? They might have shared the same bed but they weren’t on the same page. Crowley was going too fast for him, both literally and metaphorically, travelling at the speed of light— Well, not exactly travelling. Not even falling, not anymore. He had landed and what a mess it was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley wasn’t falling because he had already fallen for Ezra.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> You’re my sunshine/And I want you to know that my feelings are true</em>—Queen tried its best to cover the silence in the Bentley but it wasn’t enough. Crowley was driving them (Ezra and himself, not Queen) to the garden party, and while the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, untold things hung in the air, and some of them needed to be said before they reached their destination. Not all of them, oh, definitely not all of them, but he needed to address at least one question.</p><p> </p><p>“You can still change your mind, you know. Just say the word and I’ll take you back to the bookshop. I wouldn’t mind, I promise.” Liar, liar, liar. Showing up to the party without Ezra sounded unbearable but Crowley gripped the wheel and forced the words out. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”</p><p> </p><p>He kept his gaze on the road and let Ezra think it over, while the sounds of <em> You’re My Best Friend </em> washed over them.</p><p> </p><p>“Nonsense, my dear. Listen to yourself.” Ezra huffed and Crowley could practically hear his eyes rolling. “We go together, that was our agreement and I’m quite intent on keeping my word.”</p><p> </p><p>Fine. In one of Crowley’s most secret fantasies, Ezra would have suggested ditching the party and going off together to somewhere nice instead, but categorically rejecting the idea of leaving Crowley to his fate at the hands of a couple of vultures pretending to be his colleagues— Okay, he got tangled up in his metaphor a tad bit. Vultures didn’t even have hands! Anyway, Ezra sticking to their convoluted plan woke a few butterflies in Crowley’s stomach and now they were having quite the party. Although… Did butterflies have parties at all?!</p><p> </p><p><em> To hell with metaphors, </em> Crowley thought and put his foot down.</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley!” Ezra yelped.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on, angel. We’ve got a party to hit—let’s do it with style, while we’re at it.”</p><p> </p><p>Riding off into the sunset in a vintage car with his angel by his side? Maybe delusional but stylish as hell.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley grinned as he got an idea how to crank the cool to the max.</p><p> </p><p>“Pass me my sunglasses, please. They’re in the glove compartment.”</p><p> </p><p>Judging by the sly smile playing around the corners of Ezra’s lips, he approved.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you go, my dear.”</p><p> </p><p>Well then. This sunglassed Cinderella was ready to fake love and make mischief till his heart burnt up.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And we’re spinning with the stars above/And you lift me up in a wave of love… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“An acapella band featuring eighties music? I fear to ask.”</p><p> </p><p>“My boss has a thing for weird stuff and let’s face it, the eighties were pretty weird.” Crowley shrugged. “Last year she made us act out scenes from <em> The Tempest</em>, which was a whole new level of horrible. This is pretty mild for her.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t wait to meet her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, about that… As much as she loves throwing a lavish garden party every year, she doesn’t like to mingle. If she’s in one of her moods, you might not even glimpse her tonight. What can I say, her ways are—”</p><p> </p><p>“Ineffable.”</p><p> </p><p>“Quite right.”</p><p> </p><p>Apart from her peculiar notion of entertainment, Crowley had to give the Boss credit: she knew how to throw a ‘lavish garden party’. For some reason, she decided to mix the 80s style decorations with coloured fairy lights—and it worked. Also, she had provided plenty of food and alcoholic beverages for the evening; Crowley couldn’t wait to see Ezra taste those sinful-looking vol au vents or the club sandwiches. And the curried eggs? The mere thought of Ezra licking cream off his plush lips made Crowley gulp.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, he needed a drink and rather quickly. Wine, for starters— but then he spotted Hastur and Ligur approaching them, and Crowley started to thirst for something more stronger. Instinctively, he reached for Ezra’s hand, because wine, whiskey, and vodka were all great, but no amount of liquid courage could give him more strength than that plump hand. If Ezra’s answering little squeeze made Crowley’s heart swell in his chest, well, nobody needed to know.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi, Crowley.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Here we go, fuckers, </em> Crowley thought as he plastered a wolfish grin on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Ezra, darling, meet my <em> dear </em> colleagues, Hastur and Ligur.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cheers, mate.” Ligur raised his bottle of beer in greeting.</p><p> </p><p>“The famous Ezra,” Hastur said with a sneer.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes, nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.” The latter rolled off Ezra’s tongue in a positively demonic tone, leaving zero doubt that Crowley hadn’t got very nice things to say about his colleagues.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hah. The absolute bastard. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“So, how did you two meet?”</p><p> </p><p>“In a museum. I was enjoying a most intriguing Rubens exhibition when Crowley approached me and remarked that—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and what do you do for a living?”</p><p> </p><p>“I own a bookshop in—”</p><p> </p><p>“So, you two live together or what?”</p><p> </p><p>At Ligur’s question, Crowley’s face turned into the shade of a <em> Rosa rugosa </em> ‘Rubra’ in full bloom.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, not yet,” Ezra said, his cheeks tinged pink, and glanced at Crowley. “Why, my dear, your colleagues’ conversational technique is most interesting. This interrogative style is very… modern.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley could almost see the wheels turning in Hastur’s and Ligur’s head, trying to figure out if Ezra had insulted them. Before they could get out of the dark and dusty corners of their own minds, Bee appeared and distracted them.</p><p> </p><p>“I see you aren’t drinking, Crowley.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, couldn’t really get to the drinks yet. Bee, this is Ezra, my partner. Ezra, meet Bee. They are our nursery manager.”</p><p> </p><p>Ezra extended a plump hand. “How do you do?”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you do?” Bee shook it with such force that Crowley felt phantom tremors in Ezra’s left hand, still firmly gripping his right one. “So, partner. Look at you, Crowley, committing to a relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>“Big fan of committing, me,” Crowley mumbled because it could have been the headline of his life. Fake dating Ezra should have been a nice change from his constant failures, a little fun without real depth, but of course he had to ruin it by growing attached. And now Bee was calling him out on it? Ab-so-lu-te-ly unfair. “We care about each other. Very much.”</p><p> </p><p>For their short figure, Bee had the confidence of Mount Kilimanjaro and a scrutinizing look that made Crowley want to walk the plank, swim a round with the sharks, end up on a desert island, and mope for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeees. Right.”</p><p> </p><p>But mostly, Crowley just wanted to leave Eden Gardens behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Darling, would you bring me a glass of something? I find myself absolutely parched in this heat.”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Crowley wasn’t ready to leave his colleagues for good just yet, but Ezra’s request (nearly accompanied by batting of eyelashes) gave him the chance to slip away from them, even if for a few minutes. Even if it meant leaving Ezra alone in the lions’ den.</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t be a minute,” Crowley promised, and as he sauntered off, he caught Hastur saying,</p><p> </p><p>“You know, Ezra, I’d have never pegged Crowley for falling for someone like you, but you two seem to get on like a bookshop on fire.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” came Ezra’s stiff reply, “the expression goes, ‘like a <em> house </em>on fire’.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley smirked. His angel could protect himself just fine.</p><p> </p><p>Twelve minutes later, when he returned with two glasses of wine, he found Bee still grilling Ezra, but Hastur and Ligur were no longer in sight.</p><p> </p><p>“Angel! I haven’t even given you the tour! Let me show you those marvellous fruit trees. See you around, Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley quickly steered Ezra to an apple tree on their left, out of hearing distance, but not quite escaping Bee’s suspicious gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for the rescue, Crowley.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry for leaving you alone with them.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright, dear. What do you reckon, did we pass the test?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think Hastur and Ligur believed our little charades. About Bee, I’m not so sure. They’re not as dumb as those two.”</p><p> </p><p>“Words, words, words. The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Ezra murmured.</p><p> </p><p>A small, shy smile appeared on his face, then he leant forward and pressed his lips against Crowley’s.</p><p> </p><p>This kiss was different from their first one.</p><p> </p><p>Although Ezra’s lips felt the same (warm, soft, a bit dry), the kiss was deeper and it lasted longer— not really a record, since their last one ended after about three seconds. But Crowley had no time to listen to the clock ticking away, as he was too busy getting lost in the moment. He wanted to enjoy his first proper and also last kiss with Ezra, shamelessly pulling him closer with one hand and caressing those cloudlike curls with the other. And Ezra let him, gently cradling Crowley’s face in his unbelievably soft hands. Crowley’s heart was racing so hard it could win first prize at the Royal Ascot. It was a perfect kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley was the one to pull away first. It was a staged moment, improvised maybe but with no real emotions behind, initiated by Ezra, so Crowley had to finish it. Turn it into a really big show. The most pathetic thing? He didn’t even need to make an effort. Adoration shone in his eyes whenever he looked at Ezra, he only needed to pull off his sunglasses and gave his “boyfriend” a star-earning, wide smile.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley had to give Ezra credit because he was playing his part just as fine. That longing look and those slightly trembling pink lips? That was some A+ acting. When Crowley sneaked a glance at Bee, they seemed appalled but convinced.</p><p> </p><p>“We did it, angel,” he leant closer, inhaling Ezra’s scent (the mixture of cologne, sandalwood, and old paper), and whispered. “We won.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, right. Tickety-boo.”</p><p> </p><p>For someone who had just won a battle, no, a war, Ezra appeared not so… pleased. One might have described him as sad or disappointed. Crowley wrote it off as the aftershock of public kissing (such indecency!), and decided to reward his angel for putting on a brave face for him.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, let’s raid the buffet, then fuck off before it starts raining.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my. I hope it won’t rain.” Ezra glanced up at the sky where mean-looking black clouds were gathering. “I plumb forgot my umbrella.”</p><p> </p><p>“What a loss.” Crowley sniggered and reached for Ezra’s hand. “Now, you deserve a treat.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, of course, Ezra deserved everything good in life—which, sadly, did not include Crowley. What a pity, really. Because maybe, with Ezra holding his hand, Crowley could do it. He could give them the finger, leave without looking back, and have his (their) own garden.</p><p> </p><p><em> Yeah, maybe, </em> Crowley thought as they walked hand-in-hand towards the tables packed with food. <em> In another universe. </em></p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em> Love of my life, don’t leave me… </em>The journey back to the bookshop was silent, except for Queen’s best hits filling the Bentley, as usual, but it wasn’t nearly as awkward as their little dance on the threshold.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to—”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I should—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sorry—”</p><p> </p><p>“Nahh, fine—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, please, what did you—”</p><p> </p><p>“You first, I mean—”</p><p> </p><p>“So—”</p><p> </p><p>“So.”</p><p> </p><p>Then silence again.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?” Ezra risked the question after a few uncomfortable seconds.</p><p> </p><p>“No, thanks. It’s time for me to fuck up. I mean, fuck off.”</p><p> </p><p>Not that Crowley wanted to go—on the contrary, every cell in his body wanted to stay, but finally, he had learnt to let go. He just needed to practice his new-found skill.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. If that’s— that’s what you want.”</p><p> </p><p>Those streetlights were doing nothing for properly illuminating Ezra’s beautiful features, so Crowley mostly relied on his ear and for some reason Ezra sounded sad. Crowley knew why he himself felt sad, but why on Earth Ezra sounded sad? Maybe he had enjoyed the party less than he let on.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, was the party very awful?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, of course not, my dear.” Okay, he sounded honest. “I spent most of it with you, so it wasn’t much different from our usual outings, was it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fair point.” Now that they got that sorted, it was really time to pry his hands off the door frame and wave goodbye. “Look, I should go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, right. Sorry for keeping you.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley wanted to bang his head on said door frame.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you’ll notify me when you dump me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would I be the one doing the dumping?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you know,” Ezra started and the brief flash of a passing car showed the thin, joyless smile on his face, “I’m not your type, after all.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We should just kiss like real people do— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley practically tore out the earphones and sent them flying across the room. When did every bloody love song start being about him and Ezra? Wherever he went, Crowley was reminded of him, and it was infuriating. He thought that not bothering with the nuisances of a courtship, as Ezra had put it, would make it easy? It only made everything worse. This whole break-up thing was a fraud, and it still hurt like hell.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, technically, they hadn’t broken up yet as Crowley kept avoiding contacting Ezra. Stalling for time was futile, but he just couldn’t bring himself to send that message. Calling or showing up in person? No way.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Are you drooping?” Crowley snarled at his plants. “This is no Autumnal Leaves Care Home, there is no drooping or wallowing here! What was that? Do I hear self-pity? You don’t deserve pity, you useless shits! You think anyone will love your nice lil roots and shoots? Nice is just a four-letter word, so fuck you!” He was shouting at them now. “No-one will come and cry fat tears over you, idiots, so pull your shit together! No-one cares about you but me, suckers!”</p><p> </p><p>His gaze turned onto the hibiscus sitting on the windowsill, looking disgustingly cheerful and ignoring Crowley’s rant. Its huge, pink flower was basking in the sunshine like Crowley wanted to bask in Ezra’s presence. <em> Ugh. Not again. </em></p><p> </p><p>“You! Why so happy when you’re stuck with me?” The hibiscus didn’t tremble under Crowley’s accusing finger. “If you weren’t so greedy, you could have stayed with Ezra. Maybe you could be even friends. But you wanted it all, didn’t you? Well, enjoy your sunshine, <em> sunshine</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t really put his heart into shouting. Ezra gave the hibiscus to him, not exactly as a gift, more like a cover story, but beggars cannot be etc. For their dates, Crowley never bothered with flowers or chocolate—cut flowers would rot eventually, chocolates would be consumed. Although Ezra could have kept postcards in the bonbon box after…</p><p> </p><p>“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”</p><p> </p><p>There he was again, pacing up and down like an agitated tiger, and thinking about how to make his angel smile. Well, no need to worry about that anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe presents weren’t exchanged, but Ezra had always been generous with his sunny smiles and grateful looks. He even gifted Crowley with a kiss once, a most memorable occasion, although perfectly staged—</p><p> </p><p>Crowley stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Staged. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The word rang a bell in his mind; there was something that he should remember, something important, something that Ezra had said…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “While I’m a smooth liar, I’m a bad actor.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The memory hit him like a hammer dropped on his head, and Crowley slumped down on top of an overturned pot. He needed to think for a minute, and analyze the facts, which were:</p><p> </p><ol>
<li>Ezra was too shy for public kissing, he said so.</li>
<li>Ezra was bad at pretending, so...</li>
<li>...they went on fake dates to practice.</li>
<li>Ezra proposed at least half of those dates.</li>
<li>During said dates, Ezra initiated contact but kissing remained off the table.</li>
<li>Then Ezra kissed him at the party.</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>From a certain point of view, it all made sense— but then it would have meant that Crowley was so busy making a donkey of himself that he utterly failed to notice Ezra falling for him. So he kept rejecting Ezra’s advances, stating over and over again that the man was not his type—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Holy cow. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Before the plants could have uttered ‘bollocks’—a word they had learnt from their (secretly) proud owner, Crowley was out of the flat.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em> I’m ready/Crazy little thing called love, </em> Queen was singing it as Crowley was driving through Soho, and and he would have gladly added his own version somewhere along the lines <em> I’m kinda ready so let’s hope for the best/Very crazy very big thing called love/I hope I’m not going too fast. </em>Or something that actually rhymed and didn’t torment the ears.</p><p> </p><p>He had wasted a whole day wallowing, so who cared about fast and travelling-at-the-speed-of-light anyway? Crowley put his foot on the accelerator and didn’t take it off until he reached Ezra’s bookshop. There he grabbed the roses especially stolen for Ezra (because nothing screamed affection like a bunch of flowers stolen from someone else’s garden) and the box of Paul A Young chocolates from the passenger seat, then took a few calming breaths not to get cold feet now.</p><p> </p><p>As he got out of the Bentley, Crowley noticed that the light was on in the flat upstairs. He pondered turning up the volume and serenading Ezra with the “Best of Queen” (until he opened the window and dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on Crowley’s head, if not worse), but in the end he decided on a classic method— shouting.</p><p> </p><p>“Angel!” Whoops, slip of the tongue. “Ezra! Please, we— I mean, I need to— EZRA!”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley, dear, I didn’t realise my doorbell was broken.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. He was so busy looking up, Crowley didn’t notice Ezra standing in the open door, appearing more kissable and angel-like than ever.</p><p> </p><p>“Did something happen, dearest?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to call me that, not anymore,” Crowley said, carefully examining Ezra’s face, and yes, as soon as the words were uttered, Ezra’s expression turned crestfallen. It was all the proof he needed to take his leap of faith, so Crowley quickly added, “But I’d like you to. Keep calling me nicknames, I mean, and all that stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>A tiny spark of hope lit up in Ezra’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“And all that stuff?” he parrotted in a shy, hopeful voice.</p><p> </p><p>Wow. Crowley was really the blindest creature in the universe not to notice Ezra’s infatuation. Maybe he needed less sunglasses and more honesty in his life.</p><p> </p><p>“It was all real.” Crowley hadn’t prepared a speech but once the first words had tumbled out of his mouth, the rest of it seemed to follow them like a waterfall. “Every date, every touch, every longing gaze— I meant everything. And since I’d like to keep dating you, for real, I brought you these.” He held up the roses and the chocolate with an only slightly awkward gesture. “Because so far I’ve been a lousy partner and failed to spoil you with the usual requisites of courtship.”</p><p> </p><p>Blimey, not even a month with Ezra and Crowley was already using words like ‘courtship’ and ‘requisites’. If it worked vice versa, Ezra would be wearing leather jackets in no time. Not that style mattered, not really.</p><p> </p><p>“I absolutely love that you’re not my type, because you’re something else, someone so much better. Also, just enough of a bastard to pull off this prank with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Living up to expectations had never been Crowley’s strongest suit, yet Ezra looked at him like he had hung the stars.</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else.”</p><p> </p><p>Now they were both grinning like two early jack-o-lanterns, and not even the sudden show of rain could wipe their smiles off.</p><p> </p><p>“You should come in, dear fellow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or you should come out with your famous yellow umbrella.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t have my umbrella anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Leave you alone for one day and you lose it already?”</p><p> </p><p>“I gave it away.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“This heavily pregnant young lady came into my shop today, she had no umbrella, and it was about to rain—”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley felt ready to toss the bouquet on the pavement (rude!) and yank Ezra closer to kiss him silly, but reminded himself of the importance of taking baby steps just in time.</p><p> </p><p>“—so I gave her mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I love you even more for it.”</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, well, that was one Sasquatch-footed baby.</p><p> </p><p>Judging by the way Ezra practically jumped over the distance between them and threw himself around Crowley, hugging him tight (and even crushing one or two pieces of fancy chocolate), he probably didn’t mind that much Crowley’s little slip.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you let me do it again, properly?” Crowley mumbled into that perfectly folding, nice-smelling neck, while trying to get the roses out of the way. “I want to date you until you get tired of me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a chance, dearest.” Ezra leant back just a little, so now their noses were touching. “What do you think? Will we retreat to the warmth and safety of the bookshop to discuss the highlights of our courtship, accompanied by wine, until we’re completely sloshed? Or...”</p><p> </p><p>The heavy pause and the licking of his lips indicated where Ezra’s intentions lay, but Crowley wanted to check.</p><p> </p><p>“Or?”</p><p> </p><p>“Or will we stay here and kiss in the rain until we’re thoroughly soaked?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley closed the gap between their lips with such enthusiasm that it left no question that this time (and from now on) their relationship was very, very real.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Soooo, I skipped the waking up together scene at the beginning but I full-heartedly recommend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908769">Morning</a> by plaid_knockabout. It's the best use of the sharing a bed and the misunderstandings trope.</p><p>Many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/my1alias/works">my1alias</a> for betaing!<br/>All my love to <a href="https://cozyteacups.tumblr.com/">cozyteacups</a> for the amazing art and all the cheering.<br/>So much thanks to all the lovely readers! You're amazing and probably have Crowley's patience for waiting so much for this story to be completed—hope it was worth the wait.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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